


What Did I Say?

by allofthefandoms



Series: Mirrored Experience [4]
Category: James Bond (Movies), Skyfall (2012) - Fandom
Genre: Aphasia, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-06
Updated: 2012-12-06
Packaged: 2017-11-20 11:51:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,055
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/585119
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/allofthefandoms/pseuds/allofthefandoms
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Q froze. What on earth had he just said? He knew what he wanted to say (or at least he thought he had; now he wasn’t sure), but somehow, through this god-awful migraine, the words wouldn’t come.</p>
            </blockquote>





	What Did I Say?

The Morocco situation was tense, and Q’s mind had been devoted to nothing but getting James’ through it for the last three days. He hadn’t stopped to eat or sleep, only napping when James did, only eating when Eve left sandwiches and pasta and coffee on his desk, and trying to ignore the migraine that was building. They were getting close, though, the bomb was within range, and if 007 could just get to it, he could defuse it and save quite a lot of people (and let Q finally relax, for God’s sake).

“Alright, to your left, there’s a doorway. It’s bolted, but not alarmed, so if you mug the pen should green.”

Q froze. What on earth had he just said? He knew what he wanted to say (or at least he thought he had; now he wasn’t sure), but somehow, through this god-awful migraine, the words wouldn’t come. He opened his mouth, trying to say something, anything, but now he couldn’t. Q physically could not make any proper words come out of his mouth. Desperately, he turned to Moneypenny, who tilted his screen towards herself and began speaking quickly into the comm. 

“The door’s disabled. You should be able to kick it in, structural integrity’s utter shit.” Her eyes were on Q though, dark and nervous. 

“Q, what’s wrong?” James felt his heart clench with a sensation that had nothing to do with the adrenalin running through his system. Q had never failed to guide him through an op, but that was Moneypenny on the other end of his comm line, not his beloved Q.

The door came loose just like Eve had said, but his mind was firmly elsewhere now. 

“Q is not your concern right now, 007,” Moneypenny said, her voice level and tight. She hated herself for saying it but knew it had to be done. “You have a mission to complete. 7 meters into the room, along the wall, is the fuse box. That’s where the bomb is. I can’t tell if it will trigger the bomb if you open it, so be careful.”

Q whimpered. The pounding in his head was getting worse, and he felt like he might be sick at any moment. “Saw,” he croaked. No, still wrong. Still all the wrong words coming out. He grabbed a notepad and scribbled, The door’s not connected. He needs to snip the wires fast. and then pointed at the computer screen to the bombs timer. 

Eve nodded. “Quickly, 007. Door is safe, go.”

James had to take a precious moment to breathe before heading to the box. When it came down to it, it was a simple fix, but James couldn’t stop his hands from shaking. He needed Q’s voice on the other line. But he had a job to do.

Focus, he scolded himself.

It took two snips, and everything was done.

“Bomb defused.” 

Moneypenny was hardly listening--Q was now retching violently into the nearest trash bin, and he looked as if he was about to go unconscious. She put her hand over the comm, knowing it wouldn’t totally block the sound. She had to try, though. 007 was likely to overreact when itcame to Q. “Get medical,” she hissed at an intern. “Now.”

“Medical?” James repeated. He faintly heard a commotion and realised that it was Q being sick.

“Moneypenny what the hell is going on?”

“This is not your concern right now, 007. You need to get out and meet and the rendezvous point immediately,” she replied quickly. “I can explain once the situation is under control.”

James kept his hands on his gun, though he wasn’t sure he would be able to shoot straight if push came to shove. He can still faintly hear retching and the voices of medical in the background, and he just wanted to tear his earpiece out entirely. But if something had happened to Q, he needed to know.

Once James was in the car at the rendezvous point, Moneypenny’s voice was back in his ear, hushed and fast. “Medical has Q right now. He became physically compromised during the mission, for unknown reasons. He had an attack of aphasia, got profusely ill, and blacked out. Medical is running tests now.”

James’ hands were shaking, and he held the wheel in a white knuckled grip. Aphasia could be casued by any number of things, many of them terminal. It could be cancer, Parkinsons, a stroke... And those were only the natural causes.

“Check everything,” James said thickly. “It could be...a hostile attack.”  
Moneypenny frowned. "you think he was poisoned?" She shook her head. "It's impossible, Bond, the only person who's had access to anything he ate or drank was me or Tanner. He's clean on that front." An aide appeared at her side and whispered to her. "Bond, there's a helicopter waiting for you at the airport. You'll be to Q soon."

“Check anyway,” James insisted. “Rule nothing out until medical does.” His precious Q was not going to die just because Moneypenny said it was impossible. The drive to the airport felt like an age, but soon he was there, the sleek helicopter waiting as promised. James leaped aboard, fists clenched to hide his shaking.

After the flight, James was brought straight to MI6's medical bay, where Q lay, pale and medicated. He had come back to consciousness not long after Moneypenny had spoken to James, but still looked and felt terrible. His migraine, if anything, was worse. 

“Q!” He looked terrible, hooked up to all those monitors and put on an IV of fluids and god knows what else. No one had been able to give him a straight answer about what had happened, and even laying eyes on Q did nothing to alleviate James’ fear.

Q looked up. James was back. He couldn't believe it, that was the fastest mission turn-around he had ever seen. He'd be impressed if he didn't feel nauseous. Still not trusting his own vocal capacity, he simply forced a smile. 

The smile is so forced that James sank into the nearest chair, not trusting his knees now that adrenalin was draining away, replaced by aches and pains, and not just physical ones. He was afraid, and he was not used to fear. But there was nothing he could shoot or hit, and so the fear sat like a lead ball in his stomach.

His head still pounded, and the lights in the room were too bright. Q winced, and gestured at them vaguely.

James doused the light in darkness before going to sit where he could hold Q’s hand.

“They aren’t telling me anything,” James whispered, feeling utterly defeated. “And the longer they take to figure out what’s wrong, the surer I am that it’s something serious. Like a brain tumor... Or Parkinsons...” It would be utterly devastating for Q to lose his mind or his hands, and the thought makes James’ stomach turn.

Q shuddered and squeezed his hand. Still his words had deserted him, and he felt even more helpless, and even more nauseous. He took a few deep breaths, and focused in on what he was trying to say. "...Shh," he was finally able to murmur. 

James bowed his head, any words of comfort lodging in his throat, making it tight and scratchy. He leaned against the back of his chair, hand still tangled in Q’s.

Q squeezed James’ hand, rubbing his thumb slightly. He had been victim of some bad migraines before, but never to this level--never had he lost the ability to use words properly, to help and protect James. It made him feel as if he had failed. Maybe he hadn’t been trying hard enough to get past it all. At least James was safe, Moneypenny had seen to that. The intensity of the migraine led him to worry, though, that maybe there was something else happening.

A nurse came in with a bottle of contrast to prep Q for a CAT scan.

“I need you to make sure you drink at least half of this, but more if you can,” she said, pouring out the first glass over crushed ice. “Once that’s all done, we’ll wait half an hour and then we’ll take you in for the scan.”

“How long will it take for the results to come in?” James asked, still holding Q’s hand.

“We should know within an hour,” she said with a smile. “Depending on the results, we might have to do more exams, but we should be able to rule out a few things.”

Q dutifully took the cup and began to sip, wincing. His stomach was still churning. “Must I?” He grumbled, too tired and ill-feeling to rejoice in the fact that he seemed to have control over his words again. 

But James notices, and gives the first real smile he’s had all day, and squeezes Q’s hand.

“Yes,” the nurse said with a smile. “You have to drink it or the scan won’t work.” She put an anti-nausea medication in his IV and left the room.

Q drank slowly, his eyes closed. After a moment, he squeezed James’ hand. “I’m sorry,” he muttered, his voice still feeling muddled and not quite right, but a fair deal better than it had been. He took another swallow of the contrast. “You...you said it might be Parkinsons? Doctor’s think that?” It took energy and focus to get the words out in the right order, and his posh accent was left to the wayside. He was speaking, thats what was important.

“They just don’t know,” James said helplessly. “It’s why they are doing all these tests and scans. But no one seems to have an answer!” James knows he sounds petulant, but this was Q. James was exhausted from his mission and just wanted to take Q home and curl up with him,but instead he was sitting by a hospital bed, fearing that any minute a doctor was going to come in and tell them that Q was dying and there was nothing they could do.

Q nodded. Well. This was unexpected. He knew somewhere in the back of his mind he should be terrified, but everything hurt too much to try and be afraid. And regardless, he knew he couldn’t do anything if it was a brain tumor or Parkinson’s. All he could do was continue to work and take care of James as long as he could.

When it was time for the scan, a nurse came to wheel him out. James gave Q’s hand one more squeeze, and then he was gone.

“I need you to lie completely still for me,” she said to Q. 

Q nodded and laid back, breathing as calmly as he could. The scan went fine, and he was soon brought back to his room, where James was still waiting. He gave him a faint smile. His head was still pounding.

James knew that Q was still in pain from the way the corners of his eyes pinched, and he just wanted it to go away so he could hold Q while they waited. James rested his head against Q’s chest, exhausted. What he wanted more than anything was just to crawl into Q’s arms and sleep, but instead he had to accept a restless doze in a chair.

Q dozed as well, hand curled around James’ head and holding it to his chest like a teddy bear. He let the steady pressure of his head above his heart calm him and lull him into a sense of safety. It had been a much too long day.

James woke about 4 hours later with a horrible cramp in his neck. A nurse was checking his chart and setting out a meal.

“No sign of a tumor,” she said with a smile. “We’re going to send him to a neurologist to do some more testing, but that can be done as outpatient treatment so we are going to send him home.” It was the best news James had heard in a very long time.

Q blinked awake as James’ head left his chest. “What...what’s wrong? You okay?” He mumbled, rubbing at his eyes. His head was feeling much better, thanks to the painkillers in his IV. He glanced at the meal, and frowned. It looked tinned, and gelatinous, two things Q despised. “I’ll pass on the...dinner,” he said, unsure if the word was even appropriate to the meal.

James rolled his eyes, knowing just how picky Q was when it came to food.

“Well, I am going to make you something when we got home tonight, and you are going to eat it. There isn’t enough meat on you as it is, and after a bout of whatever this was, I’m not taking any chances.”

Q nodded, and managed to smile even. “I will take some tea, though. Tea and biscuits?” he asked hopefully. It was really all he wanted, and it would just be comforting. “I’ll eat whatever you make me. As long as it’s pasta.”

James rolled his eyes and pressed a kiss to Q’s forehead. A cup of tea and a pair of sugar cookies were brought for him, along with a folder of release papers.

“We’ve scheduled you with a neurologist,” the doctor said. “But seeing as nothing is immediately dangerous, we figured you could spend the night in your own bed. But call us if there is any unexpected and sudden sharp pain, loss of vision or coordination or another attack of aphasia.”

Q nodded, and signed the appropriate papers, nibbling on a sugar cookie. He was still drained, but at least no longer in pain or retching. “And...and did you find anything that might point to Parkinson’s?” Q asked, trying to keep his voice even.

“That’s why we’re sending you to a specialist,” the doctor said softly. “You don’t exhibit any of the classic symptoms, but at this point it’s unclear. However, I expect that this is just a side effect of your migraines. Aphasia is not an overly uncommon symptom during bad migraine attacks.” 

He gave a small sigh of relief, realizing that he had not only been worrying about himself, but his sisters. Parkinson’s was genetic, and if there was even a chance Lizzie or Cori or Essie could have it, Q would have felt guilty, somehow. “I’ve never had a migraine this bad before. I thought I grew out of them, to be honest.”

“We’ve put in a prescription for migraine medication,” the doctor replied. “It should help with the worst of it.” James handed Q a clean change of clothes, frowning when he still saw the shake in his hands. When the IV was out, James helped him get dressed.

“You think you can walk out of here under your own power?” James asked. “There’s a car waiting outside.”

Q was trying his damndest to bounce back as fast as possible, but his body refused to comply. His hands still shook, and even changing from his cardigan and button-up to an old shirt of James’ was difficult. He considered...dignity, or comfort? Comfort won. “Could I? Most likely. I’d rather not, though.”

James nodded to the doctor, who brought out a wheelchair. James assisted Q as he got into it, hating how shaky Q still was. But at least they were going home.

Q hated feeling like an invalid, but he knew better than to push his body, especially when they didn’t quite know what was happening to it. So, he allowed himself to be escorted out to the car and helped in, where he promptly curled up against James’ side. “I’m so sorry about all this.”

“You’re alive,” James said softly, cradling Q against him. “All that matters is that you are here and not dying.” He pushed away the fear that this was something serious, clinging to the doctor’s opinion. ”This is just something to do with your migraines. You’ll feel better soon.”

Not entirely convinced that he hadn’t been a major inconvenience, Q sighed. “I honestly thought I had grown out of migraines...I use to get debilitating ones as a teen. Couldn’t leave my room for days sometimes, I felt so poorly. But never...never so bad I physically couldn’t speak.” He shivered at the memory.

James just stroked Q’s head, not quite sure what else to say. It had to just be his migraines. If it’s not, that means it’s something worse, something that could kill him, and James doesn’t want that. 

When they get home, James slipped one arm under Q’s and around his back, and one over Q’s stomach.

“Slowly does it,” he murmured.

Q nodded, and walked shakily up the steps, leaning into James as he did. It felt nice to have a solid, warm anchor for his body, which felt considerably worse for wear. He felt hung over, a situation that had really only happened a total of two times in his life, and like he was recovering from the flu. In short--he felt miserable. “I need to go to bed,” he murmured.

“I was hardly about to let you do anything else,” James said softly. “You look like you’re about to pass out.” He maneuvered Q into the bedroom, sitting him on the corner of the bed while he helped him undress and get into pajamas. Once Q was tucked into bed, James went to make tea, coming back shortly with two steaming mugs of earl grey.

It was a struggle to stay awake long enough to drink the tea, but Q was glad he did. It was soothing, and helped relax his shoulders and neck. “I really ought to look into ways to combat migraines, if thats what this is. My sister Estella, the one you haven’t met yet, uses yoga and peppermint oil. Not sure I’m ready to go that far into the homeopathic, but I suppose...” he stifled a yawn, “It’s worth a look.”

“Don’t forget that they are filling a prescription for you,” James reminded. “Try that before anything else.” James nursed his own cup, thankful for the warmth filling his belly. When they were both finished, James pulled Q into his arms, tucking himself around him so they could both sleep.


End file.
